


Turnabout

by 27dragons



Series: Murderers and Thieves [4]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Evil Steve Rogers, Evil Steve Rogers/Evil Tony Stark (minor), Evil Tony Stark, Kidnapping, M/M, Rescue, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 10:18:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2344808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The good news -- if you could call it that -- was that the two people Bucky loved best in the world had not suddenly turned evil. At least, <em>Bucky's</em> Tony and Steve had not turned evil. Instead, he'd been lured into a trap by this <em>other</em> Steve and Tony, who were from another dimension or universe or… something.</p><p>The bad news… Well, there was a lot of bad news, starting with that whole "evil" thing. </p><p>(Takes place a month or two after <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1867764/chapters/5084318">Chapter 21</a> of the drabble collection.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill from the [drabble collection](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1867764) that got out of hand, for the following prompts:
> 
>   * Anonymous: I would love to see more Protective!Winter Soldier. Or even the reverse, Tony kicking ass to protect Bucky. Maybe them protecting each other. Whump is basically my drug of choice, with a comfort chaser.
>   * [experiencecomesfrombadjudgement](http://experiencecomesfrombadjudgement/tumblr.com): Everyone seems to disregard the fact that Tony's a genius. They know it sure, but it's an abstract concept. Except Bucky. (And Bruce, maybe) He might not understand, but he is fully aware of it and so damn proud of Tony. 
>   * Anonymous: I think that a role reversal would be interesting. Bucky getting seriously hurt and Tony flipping out and either nearly killing or actually killing the attacker.
>   * KSL: what about Tony rescuing the Winter Soldier. Not with the suit, but simply with his wit and intelligence. It could be defusing a bomb, or simply helping him escape an overly friendly admirer at a party. Don't really care about the details enough to limit your creativity. :-) I really just want to see a moment when Tony saves the day just by being Tony.
>   * Diff_r_ent1: i'd love to see one where tony's the one going ape-shit one someone who's hurt and or kidnapped bucky!
>   * [ragequeen89](http://ragequeen89.tumblr.com): I think it would be hilarious to see Steve without or not wanting to use his shield for some reason. Perhaps Tony/teammate has stolen it. Or maybe a villain got a lucky shot and grabbed it. So! Without his shield, Steve resorts to throwing whatever comes to hand.
> 


It wasn't until he saw Tony that Bucky realized something had gone wrong. Very wrong.

Steve had seemed a little off, but it wasn't the first bad day he'd had since Peggy had died, and everyone was happy to give him the space he needed to work through that grief. So Bucky had willingly followed Steve to this factory to check out some suspicious activity.

That Tony was standing in the middle of the factory floor, waiting for them, gave Bucky pause. And then Bucky had gotten a clearer look, and _known_. Tony's face was _covered_ with tiny scars, long and straight, as if a circuit board had been seared into his skin. They weren't the angry red of new scars, either, but old, faded white.

Bucky froze so fast that he nearly stumbled over his own feet. Steve, walking ahead of him, didn't break stride. "You were supposed to wait in the basement," he said to Tony.

"You're too paranoid." Tony's eyes met Bucky's for an instant, and then flicked down and back up, appraising. There wasn't so much as a hint of affection in Tony's expression, just an apathy that hit Bucky like a punch to the gut. Tony smiled, then, and the way those scars made his lips twist -- that was even worse. "This is far enough," he said.

The door behind Bucky clanged shut, and Bucky did not need to turn around to know that it was self-locking and barricaded beyond even Bucky's strength to easily move.

Steve was coming back, and his expression, too, had lost all its warmth. "Come on, Barnes," he said, so calmly and easily that Bucky could almost imagine him suggesting they hit the town for a couple of beers. "Fighting us is only going to make it harder on you, you know."

"One of these days, one of them is going to _fall_ for that line, and then you're going to be really disappointed," Tony said. "Stop playing with him and get him downstairs already."

Something had gone very, _very_ wrong.

***

The good news -- if you could call it that -- was that the two people Bucky loved best in the world had not suddenly turned evil. At least, _Bucky's_ Tony and Steve had not turned evil. Instead, he'd been lured into a trap by this _other_ Steve and Tony, who were from another dimension or universe or… something.

The bad news… Well, there was a lot of bad news, starting with that whole "evil" thing. The other Steve had locked Bucky into restraints that he promised even the Hulk would have trouble breaking, and the other Tony had taken all of about half an hour to work out how to dismantle and remove Bucky's mechanical arm.

They made no secret of the fact that Bucky was the bait in a trap for the rest of the team, but it was more than that. They seemed to actively despise him and want him to suffer. Well, Other Steve did. Other Tony seemed mostly indifferent to Bucky. Bucky wasn't sure which was more painful.

"There aren't many of you Buckys left," Other Steve told Bucky after he'd double-checked the restraints. "You're usually dead by the time we arrive."

He searched Bucky's face -- futile, as Bucky had almost immediately locked himself behind the Winter Soldier's impassive mask -- and then stepped intimately close. "And when you do survive, you're always... damaged." Other Steve slid his fingers roughly over the scars that marred Bucky's shoulder. "Broken."

Other Steve's hand clamped around Bucky's jaw with bruising strength, forced Bucky to look at him. "I had a Bucky of my own, once," he said. "Do you know what happened to him?"

Bucky stared straight ahead, impassive, but Other Steve didn't seem to be discouraged by Bucky's lack of participation. He came even closer, his lips all but brushing Bucky's ear. "I killed him," he whispered. "He thought he was hallucinating. And then he thought I was there to rescue him. And then I killed him. I watched the life bleed from his eyes while my new allies laughed. It may have been the most beautiful moment of my life."

Other Steve pulled away just far enough to look into Bucky's eyes, his hand caressing Bucky's face in a parody of fondness. "I had you fooled; I could have relived that moment. I might have to punish Tony for ruining it."

"He would have figured it out too soon in any case," Other Tony said, pulling a cartful of gear over to Bucky's table. "But you can punish me later if it will make you feel better."

Other Steve released Bucky and grabbed Other Tony instead, pushing him roughly against the wall and crowding close. "I'll punish you when I damn well please," he growled quietly.

Other Tony didn't fight the manhandling. He smirked knowingly at Bucky before looking back up into Other Steve's face. "You're the one who said we've got a schedule to keep."

Other Steve snarled, but released Other Tony and backed away. "Get on with it, then," he said, and stormed from the room.

Other Tony chuckled as he began unloading gear from his cart. "The Buckys always get under his skin," he volunteered cheerfully. "Good times for me later."

"You and he are lovers?" Bucky asked, because Tony -- _his_ Tony, at least -- liked to talk, and Bucky needed all the information he could get.

"We _need_ each other," Other Tony said, attaching wires to parts of Bucky's body. "We _use_ each other. We fuck, when the mood strikes. But there's no point in getting sentimental about it." He glanced at Bucky curiously. "Are you jealous?" he asked, and then smirked. "Or did you want to watch?"

Bucky didn't respond, but Other Tony, like Other Steve, seemed not to care whether he elicited a response. "You know," Other Tony said, "we've met at least three other Buckys who've been Steve's lover, but you're the first one who's been _mine_."

_Not yours_ , Bucky thought, grateful for the mask of the Winter Soldier. _Never yours. I couldn't love you like this._

Other Tony tipped Bucky's head up gently, in sharp contrast to Other Steve's bruising grip, but his touch was no less repugnant. "Maybe, before we're done here, I'll have time to find out what I've been missing." Bucky met his eyes with the Winter Soldier's thousand-yard stare. Other Tony grinned, unmoved and smug, and dropped Bucky's chin to resume attaching wires.

Bucky tried again to fight free, even though he was certain Other Steve had been all too correct about the strength of the restraints.

Other Tony sighed and touched a control, and electricity like fire flooded Bucky's body, radiating out from the restraints. It didn't last long -- ten seconds perhaps? -- but by the time it subsided, Bucky could already feel the scream gathering at the back of his throat. Other Tony patted Bucky's cheek. "Stop trying to get loose," he advised, in apparent sincerity, "or you're going to be in much more pain."

Bucky wondered if Other Tony understood that the physical pain hurt less.

***

Bucky's sense of time had been skewed somewhat by the lack of natural light and the pain, but it felt like about three days later (and was probably closer to half that) when the rescue party arrived.

Other Tony was taking a turn at Bucky when it happened. Bucky hated Other Tony's turn. Other Steve, it turned out, was much easier to goad into physical violence. Once, Bucky had nearly managed to push Other Steve into beating him unconscious, but Other Tony had stepped in at the last minute with a sharp-tongued reminder.

Other Tony's verbal taunts hurt far more -- and being a _Tony_ , he was far too clever about finding Bucky's sorest spots. Cleverer (or at least more ruthless) than the real Tony, in fact, because Other Tony had all but ripped the Winter Soldier mask into shreds. Bucky was still clinging tightly to its tattered outward calm, but inwardly it had failed entirely.

"Microresponses," Other Tony told Bucky. "If you were wondering. I can tell you that, and it won't matter at all, because the things I'm looking at are things you can't control. Your poker face -- what do they call it, here? The Winter Soldier? -- is very good, but you are still _you_ under there, after all. You can't turn it _all_ off. And I can detect even the smallest reaction. Pupil dilation, capillary response, even neural mapping. I can't _quite_ read your mind, but I can get very, _very_ close." He caressed a wire running from the electrode at Bucky's temple, and grinned. "For instance, I know that you either very much like or very much _dislike_ the idea of me being so close."

From the far side of the basement room, dividing his attention between the surveillance monitors and Other Tony's torment of Bucky, Other Steve chuckled darkly. "A little of both," he suggested.

"Yes, perhaps," Other Tony allowed. "Maybe we should--" An alarm interrupted whatever he was about to say, and both Other Tony and Other Steve leapt to examine a monitor that was out of Bucky's line of sight.

Other Tony was the first to react, his expression positively lighting up. "The armor," he breathed. "He brought it. And the shield, too! Steve--"

"I see it," Other Steve said repressively, still frowning at the screen. "Only the two of them?"

"It's like Christmas came early," Other Tony crowed.

Other Steve sighed, but for a change did not swat at Other Tony. "They're almost through the door. Did you set up the traps?" he asked.

"Of course."

"Good." Other Steve stretched and ambled up the stairs, grinning like a shark.

Other Tony flopped down into Other Steve's vacated chair and began doing something on his computer, his eyes bright on the monitor, his hands flashing quickly over the controls. It made Bucky feel just slightly ill, how very much Other Tony looked like _his_ Tony, the _real_ Tony.

"Don't you need to go help repel the invasion or something?" Bucky asked.

"Oh, no," Other Tony said gleefully. "Your beloved is bringing that beautiful hunk of metal right where I want it."

"So it's a trap," Bucky said.

"Of _course_ it's a trap," Other Tony said.

"I always think everything's a trap," said Natasha, dropping out of the ceiling, "which is why I'm still alive."

Other Tony snatched up a gun and pointed it at her. "Movie quotes, really?"

Natasha shrugged one shoulder. Her back was to Bucky, but she was standing defensively, ready to dodge, but not gathering herself to attack. "Well, if your home dimension has _The Princess Bride_ it can't be _all_ bad. I'm the distraction," she admitted. "It didn't need to be elegant."

Other Tony snorted. "You seem to have missed your cue. There's nothing for you to distract me from yet."

"Oh, I know. I've been watching you for a good half hour now, and I was getting bored. Also, I kind of like your setup."

Other Tony cocked his head. "Meaning?"

"I'm thinking of changing sides," she said.

"Natasha," Bucky said. "What are you doing?"

Natasha ignored him. "I'm a little tired of having my talents underutilized," she said. "A lot tired of having to pretend I care about the red in my ledger." She stepped closer to Other Tony, her movements slow and sensual. "I want a team that can appreciate my very unique skillset."

Other Tony cocked the gun and wrapped his finger around the trigger. "Close enough, Widow," he said. "I'm not stupid enough for a trick that obvious."

"Microresponses," Natasha purred. "Scan me."

"What do you know about microresponses?"

"I told you," Natasha said, slightly put out. "I've been watching for the last half-hour. And I'm not stupid."

"I thought you were exaggerating about that. The perimeter alarm only went off five minutes ago."

"Very. Unique. Skillset." Natasha took another step forward. "If you kill this dimension's Tony and Steve, I will leave with you. Am I telling the truth?"

"Natasha," Bucky grated. "Don't."

"Yes," Other Tony said slowly, still suspicious. "And you'll take my orders?"

"No," Natasha said. "I'm part of the team, not a flunkie. I'll take your suggestions, and Steve's, under advisement."

Other Tony hummed, then glanced at the monitor. "Here he comes," he said. "Make yourself useful, and we'll discuss it."

Before Natasha could respond, the door to the basement flew open and Iron Man walked heavily into the room. "You get exactly one chance to surrender."

"Trap!" Bucky called. "Tony, back up, it's a trap! It's a--"

Other Tony flicked a switch. All the lights on the far side of the basement flickered and died, including those on the Iron Man suit. The armor toppled to the floor with an earsplitting crash.

"Localized EMP," Other Tony murmured. He snatched up a pair of magcuffs that were close twin to the ones on Bucky's legs and tossed them to Natasha. "If you're going to be helpful, now is a good time."

"The suit takes approximately twenty seconds to reboot," Natasha supplied. She walked smoothly to the fallen Iron Man and used the magcuffs to secure the gauntlets together behind him. "How are you going to get him out?"

"With a blowtorch, if I have to," Other Tony said, typing into his computer again.

"You'll damage it," Natasha pointed out. She rolled the armor over with a faint grunt of effort and stood, setting her foot on its chestplate. "Let me."

"Natasha, dammit!" Bucky struggled against his bonds. "Don't!"

Other Tony glanced at Bucky dismissively before turning back to her. "What are you going to do?"

Natasha smiled smugly, her eyes on the armor. "I have Rogers' override codes." The eyes began to flicker as it came back online, and Natasha raised her voice. "Override alpha-one-eight-Sierra-Romeo-beta-one-one." She paused, briefly, as if consulting her memory. "Situation psi-delta-two. Supplementary situation epsilon-alpha-one. Extreme override authorization Tango-Sierra-five-one-two."

And just like that, the armor fell into a dozen fragments, leaving Tony -- Bucky's Tony -- sprawled on the floor, hands still encased in the gauntlets that were magcuffed at his back. Tony was glaring at Natasha. "Why would you betray us like that?" he demanded, caught somewhere between hurt and offended.

"That's 'Sultan Vile Betrayer' to you," she quoted, then knelt to press her fingernails threateningly into Tony's throat. "Because I'm done with your bullshit, Tony."

Other Tony laughed. "Oh, that was... that was beautiful," he said. He turned to Natasha with a wide grin. "We'll still need to talk to Steve, of course, but you definitely have my vote."

Natasha looked up at Other Tony. She picked up the helmet from the floor and held it out with a slow, seductive smile.

Bucky had seen Natasha smile like that before. It meant nothing good.

Other Tony came closer, keeping the real Tony's body between them, and reached out to take the helmet.

Quick as a snake, Tony yanked a hand free of the gauntlet. Bucky barely had time to register the knife in his grip before Tony had plunged it into Other Tony's exposed side. It wasn't perfect, Bucky saw, not angled quite right for the heart, but it sank deeply between Other Tony's ribs.

The surprise of the trauma gave Natasha time to drop the helmet and snatch at Other Tony's wrists. Tony rolled into Other Tony's feet, tripping him and knocking him off-balance for the split second it took for Natasha to break his neck.

Tony kept rolling, up onto his hands and knees, where he panted out a few harsh breaths before climbing up to his feet. Natasha had already beelined straight for Other Tony's computer.

Tony strode over to Bucky. "Are you-- how bad is it?" He ripped off the electrodes and wires, then knelt to examine the magcuffs.

"Can't believe he fell for Natasha's act," Bucky said, rather than answering. "What about the microresponses?"

"I'm very convincing," Natasha said, her eyes on the screen, her hands busy.

Tony found the disengage for the magcuffs and yanked them off. "How bad?" he repeated, more urgently.

"I've had worse," Bucky tried. He sat up and pulled Tony into a hug. "Thank you," he breathed.

Tony kissed Bucky's temple and rested his forehead against the top of Bucky's head. "We're not out yet, babe. Steve is still--"

"Tony," Natasha called, her voice laced with urgency. "We need to get out, quick."

"What is it?" Tony pulled out of Bucky's grasp to look over Natasha's shoulder, and Bucky followed, limping gingerly.

"They apparently set up this whole place to blow. What I'm looking at here -- it'll probably take out a few blocks in all directions. We need to evacuate, Tony. Get out the word as fast as we can to any civilians in the area, have a perimeter set up. _Now_."

Tony grabbed the back of the chair and rolled it -- with Natasha still in it -- out of the way, his eyes locked on the screen. "Go," he said sharply, his hands dancing over the keyboard. "Take Bucky, call the cops. Just in case."

Bucky's heart pounded at the sight of Tony in his element. How could he have imagined, earlier, that the Other Tony even came close to this?

"Clint and Steve are still up there," Natasha protested.

"You've got about fifteen minutes to clear the civilians," Tony said. "Do that first."

"Tony, fifteen minutes is never going to be enough time to stop this, even for you! We need to--"

The ceiling caved in, an enormous shower of plaster dust and wood and bits of concrete. Two Steves rolled out of the cloud, fighting and snarling and shouting wordlessly.

And fuck, but that was terrifying to watch -- neither of them was holding back _anything_. Super strength, enhanced speed, enhanced reflexes, and they were both giving it their all. Bucky could barely follow it, despite his own serum's enhancements.

Natasha had taken up a guard position between the Steves and Tony, who was still furiously working. Bucky limped over to join her -- he was too injured to be much use, especially against Other Steve, but if he could help buy time for Tony to undo the trap Other Tony had left, he would. "Gimme a gun?"

Keeping her eyes on the brawling Steves, Natasha slid her spare Glock from its holster and passed it over. "You know which one of them you want to shoot?" she asked, cool as ever under fire.

Bucky glanced at the Steves, and frowned. They were dressed the same. Why the fuck were they dressed the same? Shit. And Other Steve had already fooled Bucky before. "No," he confessed.

Natasha nodded. "If you figure it out, let me know. In the meantime, just keep them off Tony and be ready to run."

One of them was gaining the upper hand. Bucky thumbed off the Glock's safety and lifted it halfway, but he still didn't know which was which. "Which one, dammit?" he snarled. "Which one?"

Behind them, Tony was talking to the computer as if it could hear him, coaxing and cursing and demanding that it move faster, _come on, baby, you can do it, don't let me down now_.

The battle had turned _again_ , and Bucky still couldn't tell which one he should shoot.

And then one of them suddenly sprouted an arrow in his forearm.

The un-feathered Steve took advantage of the moment of shock to roll away and snatch up a chunk of concrete. He smashed it into his opposite's temple. Again. And again.

Natasha raised her gun and shot the same Steve that Clint had shot -- Bucky devoutly hoped it was the Other Steve -- in the neck. His arms flailed one last time, trying to deflect the relentless pounding of Steve's fist, and then he stopped struggling. Unconscious or dead, Bucky didn't much care.

Steve sagged, breathing heavily. "Clint," he rasped through a throat that had been half-crushed at some point in the fight, "I owe you a beer."

Clint dropped out of the same vent Natasha had used earlier. "It's a date," he said.

"How did you know?" Bucky demanded. "Even I couldn't tell them apart."

Clint crossed the room to toe at the limp Other Steve. "Our Steve was carrying his shield when we came in," he said. "It left drag marks on his shirt."

Bucky frowned at him. "And you could _see that_? In the middle of all" --he waved at the destruction the Steves had left in their wake-- "all that?"

Clint tugged on Steve's arm until he turned to reveal the marks Clint had mentioned. Even from two feet away, Bucky had to squint to see them. "That's why it took me so long," Clint said. "I wanted to be sure I was seeing it properly. Where'd the shield get to, anyway, Steve?"

"Got lodged in a support beam upstairs," Steve said. "Didn't have time to yank it free. I was keeping myself pretty busy." His lips twitched at his own joke, then he looked past Bucky and Natasha to Tony. "What's up over there?"

"The whole building's rigged to blow," Natasha said. "It'll take out at least a half-mile diameter. Tony thinks he can stop it."

Steve frowned, and peered over Tony's shoulder at the screen. "Tony, you're fighting _yourself_ , essentially, and there's only a couple of minutes left. Don't you think we should just run for it?"

"Stop distracting me," Tony singsonged, "or we're all going to die horribly."

Steve looked like he wanted to protest, then clicked his teeth shut.

"Well, at least I'll get to die horribly with friends," Clint said, entirely too cheerfully. He slung an arm over Natasha's shoulders, then looked at Bucky. "Well, and you."

"Thanks, Barton." Bucky snorted and limped over to the Other Tony's body. "Never did find out what was up with these scars."

"Scars?" Steve came over as well, peering curiously at Other Tony and then grimacing. "Oh, jeez. That looks nasty. I guess we know now why he didn't help with the kidnapping."

"Palladium poisoning," Natasha said. She shrugged off Clint's arm and joined them. She crouched to check Other Tony's pockets -- for what, Bucky wasn't sure. Maybe it was only the force of long habit. "Guess their SHIELD handled that a little differently than ours did."

"Their SHIELD's Hydra infection was more thorough than ours," Tony said, coming up on Bucky's right. He wrapped an arm around Bucky's waist and started to lean in before remembering that Bucky was injured. "According to the files, they'd already invaded the SSR by the time Steve was serumed. He never stood a chance, the poor bastard. I'm pretty sure they made him kill that universe's Bucky as a test of loyalty."

"Christ," Bucky breathed.

"They did some pretty fucked up things to the other me, too," Tony said contemplatively. "I almost feel sorry for the asshole."

"I hate to be the voice of responsibility, here," Clint said, "but weren't you in the middle of something _fairly urgent_ , Tony? Like making sure we didn't die horribly?"

"Oh, that." Tony shrugged, and glanced back at the computer. "We're good."

Bucky followed his gaze, and saw the countdown timer paused at twenty seconds. Bucky felt smug on Tony's behalf. Why did everyone keep underestimating him? Did they not understand what _genius_ meant?

"You'll want to get an EOD team in here to clear the place, of course," Tony was telling Clint.

"Shouldn't that be your job?" Clint asked.

"My boyfriend has been missing for two days," Tony said, and now Bucky could hear the strain pulling his voice tight. "I feel okay about delegating this one so I can take him home."

"I'll handle the authorities debrief and cleanup," Natasha said, derailing Clint's automatic protest. "Clint, you take Steve to the hospital. Don't argue with me, Steve. I heard bones breaking, and that doesn't even include whatever damage you took before you came down here." She eyed Bucky, and he tried to look as healthy as possible. He didn't think he fooled her, but she just shook her head at him. "Tony, you take Bucky to Bruce for patching up and get him a new arm. And then put together a way to test whether someone is from this... dimension or universe or whatever, or not, because _someone_ is going to ask and we'll need an answer ready that's better than 'Clint is smarter than he looks.'"

Tony beamed at her. "I'll call Reed," he promised. "He'll have some ideas. You're my new favorite. Do you want to take over as team leader?"

"Not even a little bit. Go do your damn jobs."

Bucky let himself lean against Tony as they headed for the stairs, then checked. "Don't we need to get the suit?"

"Natasha will take care of it," Tony said carelessly, then laughed at Bucky's startled expression. "It's okay, it's not a real suit. Just an armor. No repulsor tech, only enough power to let me walk. Doesn't even have JARVIS in it, just a dumb bot."

Bucky stared at him.

"It was an evil _me_ ," Tony said. "I _knew_ there would be some way to disable a suit in his defenses. So we ripped the innards out of an old suit and dolled it up with a few surprises. I almost wish he'd had time to put the helmet on."

Bucky almost asked what would have happened, but decided instead he'd rather kiss Tony. "The thing with the knife was hot," he said when they came up for air.

Tony grinned. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I am going to explain to you later, in great detail, just how hot that was."

"Yes. Okay. Good plan. I like this plan."

Bucky laughed, and let Tony take a little more of his weight. "Good job with the rescue, boss."


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Clint go get that beer they agreed on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Sara](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_holmes/pseuds/sara_holmes) gets 12% of the credit for this Epilogue because she begged me to "pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease write them going for the beer"

"This is a nice place," Clint said, sliding into the booth across from Steve. It was, too: the floors and tables were clean, the clientele quiet and smartly-dressed, the dim lighting was to enhance the mood rather than to cover sins, and the pool tables in the back were in excellent repair.

"I've only been here once or twice before," Steve admitted. "Tony recommended it, though. He's pretty good about that kind of thing."

Before Clint could respond, the server came around to deliver a pint for Steve and take Clint's order. "My treat," Steve reminded him, but Clint shrugged and ordered what he always ordered in any half-decent bar, which was the bartender's recommendation from whatever they had on tap.

"You know I'd have been good with a fresh six-pack in the fridge at home, right?" Clint said, grinning.

Steve laughed. "Hardly in the spirit, though." He sipped his own beer and made a pleasantly-surprised face. "This one isn't half-bad. The last microbrew I tried was terrible. An aftertaste like overripe bananas."

Clint pulled a rueful face. "I have drunk a lot of terrible brew," he admitted, "but banana-beer is not on my list."

Steve took another sip, as if to wash away the banana memory. "What's the worst beer you've had?" he challenged.

Clint had to think about that for a bit. "Probably... Okay, when I was learning to drink beer -- around sixteen, I guess? -- generic beer was still a thing."

"It sounds terrible already."

"Well, mostly it was just whatever was left from whenever some factory had met quota for the month. The trick, on any given night, was to buy just one can and drink it in the parking lot to see if it was any good. Mostly it was just the usual watery crap, but once in a while one of the good places would package generic, and then we'd go in and buy the out the lot. Or at least, as much of it as we could afford. But never knowing what you were going to get until you took that first sip made the bad stuff all the worse."

Steve chuckled knowingly. The server returned with Clint's pint, and Steve started a story from when he and Bucky had been kids -- actual kids, smack in the middle of Prohibition -- and had gotten accidently tangled up into a bootlegger's delivery operation.

Clint was nearly to the end of his second glass, in the middle of one of his better stories about his days as a carny trick-shot, when a woman walked past, beautiful enough to actually shut his brain down for a second, flawless skin and smoky eyes and generous curves. She met his gaze with a knowing smile and continued past them on her way to the pool tables.

He blinked his brain back online and resisted the urge to turn around. "Did you _see_ that?" he said. "Wow. New York has a lot of gorgeous people, but even for New York, she was _stunning_."

Steve gave him a flat, unamused look.

Clint held up his hands in surrender. "No, I swear," he backpedaled, "I have nothing to do with Nat's stupid conspiracy to hook you up! I promise, I wasn't trying to--"

"I'm a little out of practice," Steve said. Was that a blush climbing the back of Steve's neck and curling around his ears? Maybe he was imagining it; the light was dim and Steve's expression hadn't changed at all. "But I'm fairly sure it's still bad manners to make eyes at someone other than your date."

Clint nearly spit out his mouthful of beer. And then he nearly choked on it. In an instant, Steve was beside him, pounding him on the back and then laughing as Clint finally managed to swallow the damn beer and cough around that scratchy feeling in his throat.

"You okay?" Steve asked, though his grin suggested he already knew Clint was fine.

"Yeah, yeah," Clint rasped. He took another sip to settle his throat. "Christ. How did you even manage to say that with a straight face?"

"Because it's true," Steve said, all earnest eyes and -- Clint's eyes _weren't_ playing tricks on him, because that blush was all the way up to Steve's eyebrows now.

"Wait. This really is a date?"

Steve slid back into his own seat. "That was the idea, yes." His eyebrows raised. "Unless you're not interested, of course, in which case--"

"I didn't say that," Clint said quickly. "Just... give me a minute to adjust, here."

"Is it that big of an adjustment? I thought we were having a nice time."

"Yeah," Clint shot back, "but I didn't-- Wait. Is this something you're doing to fuck with Nat?"

Steve laughed. "No, but now I wish I'd thought of it earlier. Sam probably would've helped me out and then she would've stopped trying to set me up a _year_ ago."

"No, she wouldn't. She'd just have started trying to set you up with guys, too." Clint finished his beer and pushed the glass toward the edge of the table where the server would see it. He leaned on his hand and looked at Steve closely. "So... bi, then?"

Steve nodded, and the blush that had been starting to recede climbed upward again.

"Huh. Even Nat thinks you're straight, and she is hard to fool."

"Wasn't trying to fool anyone," Steve said. He leaned forward, serious and honest. "Until pretty recently, I wasn't in a good place for dating. Not mentally or emotionally. It just wouldn't have been fair. But I've been... looking around, for the last few months. It feels like I'm... waking up."

"Yeah?" Clint smiled. "That's a good thing."

"It feels good," Steve agreed, relaxing a little.

Clint watched the way Steve's eyes flicked from Clint's eyes to his mouth to his hands. "So when were you going to let me know that this was a date?"

"Thought you already knew," Steve said sheepishly. "I was too subtle, I guess. So you'd probably have been really surprised when I tried for a kiss, then."

Clint gasped in mock outrage. "On the first date? Steve Rogers, you _cad_. What kind of girl do you take me for?"

Steve snorted. "What's wrong with kissing? You got a problem with kissing, Clint?" His tone was offended, but the quirk of his mouth and the spark in his eyes were... something different.

Something warm. Something challenging.

Something that Clint thought he might like to see again.

So he let his gaze drift down to Steve's lips, held it long enough for Steve to notice, and looked back into those sky-blue eyes. "Nope," he said. "No problems with kissing at all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: As of 3/15, this chapter is also featured at the beginning of "[Dumb Runaway Kids](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2434793/chapters/5391338)" because that's where it properly belongs, but I'm leaving it here as well to keep all the lovely comments that have been left!


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